by Linnea May
As tempting as that sounds, I couldn’t do it. Never.
I might be calling this place “ours”, but really, it is still his.
I just spend the majority of my time here. Weekends, mostly. But lately, it’s been weekdays as well.
Cedric solved the problem of the long commute by letting Craig drive me to work if he was available. Of course, I protested that as well, but as usual, there was no point in doing so. Cedric wants me to be around as much as possible.
I look up at him with lovestruck eyes and gently stroke along his cheek. He is smiling as he looks down at me, wiping away the cold sweat on my forehead.
“Do you remember what I said that night?” he asks. “Half a year ago, at the restaurant.”
I raise my eyebrows in question. He said a lot of things that night, so I am not sure what particular part he is talking about.
“During your speech?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes.”
A shy smile graces my face. “You called me your partner…”
I hesitate for a moment and clear my throat while I try to recapitulate his exact words.
“You introduced me as the woman at your side. The partner you never thought you’d deserve.”
He smiles contentedly. “You have a very good memory.”
“It was an interesting choice of words,” I explain. “That early on. To speak of a ‘Partner.’ It sounded so serious.”
“It was serious,” he says. “And it still is. Without you, a lot of things would have been a lot harder for me this year.”
He kisses me again. I am a little embarrassed about the sweat on my face, but he doesn’t seem to care. On the contrary, he kisses me again, more greedily this time, soaking up the sweat on my upper lip.
I don’t know why or how, but I understand that he needs me. Often enough, there have been nights where my presence alone was all he asked for. We would spend the evenings together, sitting in the living room but each of us doing their own thing.
It is this nonchalant naturalness of being together that made this so special. For him just as much as for me. We could be in the same room for hours without speaking and just enjoy the presence of the other.
He even started writing on his next project while I was in the same room, reading or watching TV shows with my headphones on so that I wouldn’t disturb him. And he bought a Playstation when he found out that I like to play games once in a while. I wasn’t the one who told him that, but Lesley did at one of our joint meetings.
I never would have thought that I would ever be part of one of Lesley’s double date nights that she enjoyed so much. For years, I never had a man who stuck around for long enough to be included in something like that, and now that I finally do, it had to be one of her favorite authors. Of course, she was ecstatic when Cedric and I finally became official. She still is.
She and her fiancé are also the reason why Cedric and I pushed today’s play time to the afternoon, as we have a dinner date with them later.
“We should probably get you ready,” Cedric whispers as if he could read my mind.
“Get me ready, huh,” I respond. “Do you think I need some help with that?”
He plants a kiss on my cheek. “I think you might. Let me draw you a bath.”
“Will you join me?” I ask.
He nods. “Of course.”
He helps me get off of the bed as I am still a bit unsteady on my legs. My entire body is sore from our long play session. I don’t know how much time we spent in here, but it feels like it has been hours.
I know my body will be exhausted for a while. It’s good that we are not doing this every day. I don’t think my body could take a treatment like this on a daily basis.
“Do you think you’re ready?” he asks while we are waiting for the bathtub to fill up, wrapped in our comfy robes.
I look up at him with questioning eyes. “Ready for what?”
He is standing next to me, absentmindedly looking down at the bubbling water in the tub.
“The next few weeks are going to be tough,” he explains. “A lot of public attention, a lot of appointments, interviews…”
“I know that,” I interfere. “We’ve gone through all of that a few months ago, too.”
It’s true. The first few weeks after Cedric publicly introduced me at his publisher’s event have been tough. He anticipated that we would be in the spotlight to some degree, at least for a little while. For the most part, media interest was limited to taking a few pictures of us in public places here and there. Even on that same night during and after his speech, we were blinded by a frenzy of flashing cameras.
Of course, he took it like a pro, whereas I looked utterly confused and scared on most of the pictures that I have seen.
There was even one request for an interview, which - luckily - Cedric declined at the time, saying that he wants his and our privacy protected.
“You can do that as a writer,” he later explained to me. “This secluded, mysterious attitude - people dig that.”
But it only works in his favor as long as there is not too much pressure and curiosity coming from his readers and the media. It was easy to avert their attention and the few requests that came in a few months ago, but it might be different now that his release is on the agenda.
“They will be all over me,” he whispers, placing his hand on my shoulder.
If there is one thing that I’ve learned about Cedric during the past months we have spent together, it is that he hates to show weakness. His dominant nature never leaves any room for him to be visibly vulnerable.
I know he hates the spotlight, despite his seemingly easy-going way of handling the audience at the event where we met for the first time. Every time he is asked for an interview or has to be around a lot of people for a few hours, he comes home drained and weary. It should have been obvious to me from the beginning since he is a writer, and they are not exactly known to be very sociable. But I was still surprised to find out how similar we are in that regard. Even when we are together, there a lot of stretches where we just silently enjoy the presence of each other, without talking much.
He has never specifically asked to be alone after an event that exhausted him, and he seems to be able to recharge his batteries even with me present.
At the same time, he has never asked for support. I have seen him weakened and tired, but he has never explicitly said anything that would suggest his need for comfort or help.
I still consider it a challenge to uncover that side of him, to make him open up to me and trust me enough to reveal a side he prefers to hide.
For now, his hand on my shoulder is as much of a sign as he is willing to give.
I reach up and place my hand on his, gently squeezing his fingers.
“All over us,” I say. “If anything, they will be all over us. You’re not alone in this.”
I look up to him and try to catch his eyes, but he averts them from me and removes his hand from my touch.
“I know,” he says, turning around to take off his bathrobe. “Let’s get ready; we don’t have much time left.”
Chapter Three
“Holy crap!” Lesley gasps as we are standing in front of the high-rise building that Cedric lives in.
I have picked her and her fiancé up from the nearest subway station, because she insisted on taking public transport to get here, even though Tom - her fiancé - does have a car.
“It feels more real this way,” she insisted. “And besides, there’s no parking anywhere in this city.”
I commented that Cedric’s building does have underground parking, but she completely ignored me.
Tonight is the first night that she and Tom are visiting us here. I am still surprised that Cedric was not only okay with the idea, but that he was the one who suggested it after we’ve been invited to their new place a few times. They moved in together shortly after getting engaged a few months ago.
“And you said his apartment is at the top of t
his?” she asks, still staring up the building in front of us.
“Yeah, he lives in the penthouse.”
“Nice,” Tom remarks. He is not a man of big words.
I don’t know why, but I am nervous about tonight. My heart is pounding so hard and loud in my chest that I am certain Lesley and Tom must be able to hear it as soon as we are enclosed in the small space of the elevator that goes all the way up to the rooftop, where Cedric is waiting for us in the sunroom.
Our sunroom. I blush every time I think of our first night up there. There have been many others since then, but this first one was still special. After all, it was where it all started.
“Oh my god, this is so cool!” Lesley squeals next to me. “How come you haven’t moved in with him, yet? You must be crazy!”
“It’s far from the office…,” I try to explain.
“Oh, come on,” Lesley exclaims. “What a lame excuse!”
The opening doors of the elevator come to my rescue and save me from having to continue this conversation.
I expected Lesley to let out another outcry of fascination, but instead, she turns eerily quiet as soon as we step out of the elevator.
I lead the way and open the door to the sunroom, where we find Cedric waiting for us. He looks dashingly handsome as always in a dark suit and a silver grey tie. He has been standing with his back to us but turns around as soon as we walk through the door.
Lesley and Tom are standing next to me, Tom in his usual quiet and unobtrusive demeanor while Lesley’s jaw literally drops at the sight of the beautiful view in front of us.
“Damn,” she breathes next to me.
Cedric approaches us with wide steps, reaching his hand out to greet the two of them. He shakes Lesley’s hand first and then Tom’s. I kind of feel sorry for the guy. It’s hard to tell from his nonexistent expression, but I figure that it must be weird to have his fiancée swoon over another man and his wealth right in front of him. I wonder how much it bothers him.
“Wow, I knew your books are selling well,” Lesley says, looking up to Cedric. “But… damn!”
All of us laugh awkwardly.
“How many places like this do you have?” she asks.
Cedric stops her with a wave of his hand. “Just this one. Why would I need more than one home?”
“Because you can!” she insists.
I nudge her from the side. All her excitement aside, Lesley can be a bit nosy at times.
“Alright, alright,” she says, sticking out her tongue to me.
“What would you like to drink?” Cedric asks, always the perfect host. “I assume champagne for the girls and beer for us?”
He is looking at Tom, who gives him a thumbs up. I know Cedric doesn’t necessarily like beer. In fact, I’ve only seen him drinking it in Tom’s company. It is a nice bonding gesture that I appreciate a lot. I may not think much of Tom, but he is my best friend’s betrothed and for all I know, he is a good guy who is incredibly cool about his future wife fangirling and admiring a man like Cedric so openly.
We take a seat in the sitting area that has served as a playground for me and Cedric on our first night - and many nights since then. I blush at the thought of it, especially after Cedric casts me a knowing look. It’s on his mind, too, and he made sure that I am thinking about it as much as he is.
After we clink glasses, Lesley soon takes over the conversation, as she always does. She is the most communicative person among all of us, and she usually steered the conversation towards Cedric’s books.
“You must be nervous,” she notes. “Just one more week!”
Cedric looks at her with an unreadable face.
“A little, yes,” he admits.
“Just a little?” she follows up. “Is this already business as usual for you, a new release?”
Tom and I are sitting between them, turning our heads back and forth as if we’re watching a tennis match. Neither of us usually says much during this kind of conversation. I know Tom has read some of Cedric’s books because Lesley wanted him to. But just like me, he never cared for them much.
I still haven’t read many of them. Except for ‘Silent Daughter’ and the manuscript that is about to become a book in the upcoming week, I have only tried two other titles. His debut novel and another one he released a few years ago.
I didn’t like either of them.
I feel kind of bad for it. How could I not see what Lesley sees in his stories? Am I really this ignorant? How could it be that I only liked those two? The ones that were more like twisted - really, really twisted - love stories instead of common thrillers.
Unlike Lesley, Cedric never pushed me to read his books, but of course, he noticed when I picked them up. I was stupid enough to read them in his living room, with him sitting next to me or walking in and out, perfectly aware of what I was doing.
He never asked me how I liked them. I am sure he knows that I never finished reading them, but I never addressed the issue, and I have no idea why.
I’m such a chicken.
“I wouldn’t say business as usual,” Cedric replies. “But I don’t see the point in getting anxious about something I cannot control.”
I look at him, intently studying his demeanor as he studies me when we are playing.
Something that is out of his control. He must hate that.
The way his hands clench around the thick beer glass seems to confirm that.
“Well…,” Lesley utters. “It’s not about seeing a point in it. I mean, you can still feel about it in a certain way, even if there’s no point in doing so. No?”
She is greeted with awkward silence as Cedric doesn’t deem her an answer, and Tom and I sit between them, unsure whether we should say something.
Eventually, all of us come to the same conclusion, and we lift our glasses in unison to drink.
“I am nervous,” I say in an attempt to break the silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Cedric lifting his head and looking at me, possibly smiling.
Lesley grins at me. “I can imagine. Will you go with him every time the press wants him?”
“It is not going to be that bad,” Cedric interjects. “I’m just a writer, after all.”
He winks at me, and I shake my head at him.
Just a writer. That’s what I called him at what feels like a million years ago.
“Will you have more reading events or mostly interviews and such?” Tom asks.
Cedric clears his throat.
“No more readings, if I can avoid it,” he says. “They always take so long - the preparation and the event itself. It’s mostly going to be interviews and appearances here and there.”
“Ah,” Tom makes.
“For some reason, people expect to see my face plastered all over the media every time I write another one,” Cedric adds in a dull voice.
My eyes have never left him, but now I am observing him even more attentively. I don’t know if I have ever seen him like this. So… unhappy. He looks as if someone has placed a heavy weight on his neck.
Lesley notices it, too. She is shifting next to me. I can literally feel her need to say something - and her inability to know the right words.
“I’ll be there,” I say, sounding like a naive child. “Where ever they want to see you, I’ll be there, too.”
Lesley chuckles.
“Yeah, they’ll have to get used to seeing Renee’s face, too,” she says in a cheery voice, trying to lift the mood.
Cedric looks up, at me first, and then Lesley. He forces himself to smile, and I know he only does it for our sake.
Chapter Four
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
We’re sitting in the living room in front of a fire. Cedric poured us another drink after Lesley and Tom left. We’re both drained, but not yet tired enough to go to sleep right away.
“What for?” Cedric asks.
He’s sitting next to me, and I am curled up against his shoulder with my drink in my lap, dreamily s
taring into the fire in front of us.
“For Lesley,” I say. “I love her, but I know she can be a little too much sometimes.”
Cedric doesn’t reply right away but instead caresses my upper arm with the tip of his fingers for a few moments. I close my eyes and savor the feeling of his touch. It still amazes me how those hands could be so gentle and warm when I knew him to be so unyielding and harsh at other times. His strength is noticeable either way.
“She is very different than you,” he says. “I am surprised you two have been such close friends for so long.”
“Yeah, me too,” I admit. “I always figured she’d get bored with me at some point.”
“Opposites attract,” he says. “You’re just as good for her as she is for you.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
A few moments pass, and for a while there is no sound but the sizzling fire filling the room with its warmth and light.
I ponder for a while, trying to find the right words for an uncomfortable question that has been gnawing at me for the entire evening. Even longer than that. It has been on my mind for weeks but pushes itself in the foreground every time we meet up with Lesley.
“Wouldn’t you like it, if I was more like… her?” I ask shyly, unable to look him in the face as I do.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “If I was more like Lesley.”
“In what regard?”
I am pretty sure he understands what I am aiming at. But he is making me explain it nonetheless, even if it is not for his sake but for my own.
“Well, she knows your work a lot better than I do,” I murmur. “You two can talk about your books and your writing for hours.”
I straighten up and distance myself from him to be able to look at him as I continue.
“Did you know that I haven’t even finished them?” I ask. “Your older books. I started to read them, but I never finished any of them.”
I am trying to provoke him, to get him mad even. I may be a bit tipsy from the drinks, but in my mind it makes perfect sense right now to be as straightforward as possible.
